


The Reason Sammy doesn’t like Clowns

by Stark_on_the_Iron_Throne (Keepcalmanddontgetangry), thegreatandterriblematt



Series: Winchester and Sons [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Childhood, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Inspired by a Movie, Movie Reference, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepcalmanddontgetangry/pseuds/Stark_on_the_Iron_Throne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandterriblematt/pseuds/thegreatandterriblematt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's left in charge of Sam while John goes out hunting. To pass the time, the boys watch a movie. It doesn't end well. John comes back and doesn't deal with anything well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We don't own any of these characters. We are not making any profit from uploading this work.

The place they were staying at didn’t look like much; another old motel off a dirty street that their Dad insisted on taking because it was cheap and accepted cash. The room they’d gotten was small and cold, but at least it had a TV and plenty of blankets. They’d stayed in worse places. Dad was out and hadn’t said when exactly he would be back. This left Dean in charge of Sam, a burden that he was more than used to bearing... only he didn’t really consider it a burden. That was more of a front he put up to try and get their Dad to stay and look after them. It had yet to be effective.

“I hate spaghetti hoops,” Sam grouched, kicking the legs of his chair as he sat at the table, poking forlornly at the soggy toast and offending pasta. It wasn’t completely true; he didn’t hate spaghetti hoops. But it was safer to say that he hated them rather than that he hated this room, with its scratchy sheets that smelt of other people; he hated the town that they were staying in, even though he didn’t know anything about it, because he never got a chance to know any of the places they stayed; and that sometimes he thought he hated Dad.

“Then don’t eat them,” Dean huffed, crossing his arms as he got down from sitting at the table with his younger brother to sit on the end of his bed. He was resisting the urge to pick up Sam’s plate and throw it across the room.

It wasn’t fair, being stuck here with Sam. It wasn’t fair that he’d sacrificed his own portion of dinner just to make sure that Sam had enough to eat. After all, he didn’t know how long they’d be forced to hang around here. Their Dad had left them in places like this before for days, sometimes even weeks, and this time round Dean had been left with very little food to feed the two of them with. He didn’t have a lot of cash either. If their Dad stayed away too long, he would have to resort to stealing.

Restlessly, Sammy finished toying with his food and took the plate over to the side. While not as acutely aware of how limited their food supplies were as Dean, he had been brought up so that throwing away the leftovers didn’t even cross his mind. Normally he tried to not let his resentment at the way they lived show, but they’d been cooped up in this room together for three days now, and he’d run out of ‘homework’ (Dean said it didn’t count if he set it himself, and that he was a giant nerd for doing so) to do yesterday.

“Do you want to do something, Dean? We could go see a movie?”

“We can’t go anywhere,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as his hand searched for the TV remote. He knew that he’d put it down here somewhere. “You know that. Dad said that we had to wait here so that we could be ready to go as soon as he got back.” Dean’s emphasis on his last words echoed exactly the cadence of the instructions their father had given to them right before he’d left.

A quick glance at his little brother’s face told him that they would definitely need to find something to do soon, if he didn’t want to have to put up with Sam having a full-on bitch fit. So it was like an answer to his prayers when he found the remote to the room’s crappy little television set.

“I found the remote,” Dean announced, holding it up to the TV screen and switching it on. He skipped past the first few channels until he found something good, settling on a channel which was showing one of those over-dramatic soap operas. Almost as soon as he put the remote down though, the closing music started playing as the show starting winding up.

“Too bad this thing is nearly over,” he mumbled, more to himself than Sam, “They might play a movie next, we could see what it is if they do.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, coming over to wedge himself next to Dean on his brother’s narrow twin bed. He was secretly relieved that the programme Dean had settled on was finishing; trashy hospital procedurals really didn’t appeal to him, and whenever they watched them together it ended up with Sam getting pushed off the bed for pointing out medical inaccuracies one too many times. (“It’s TV, Sam! It doesn’t need to be realistic, that’s what reality’s for!”)

As the credits for the show started to roll, the screen split to inform them what would be playing next. It was only then that Dean noticed how late it was, and that whatever aired probably wasn’t going to be age appropriate for Sam. His fears were fulfilled when he read that the movie IT would be on next. Now, Dean knew about what was really out there, and that horror movies like this were stupid, but Sam still didn’t have a complete grasp on what their Dad was (and what they’d eventually be) up against in the real world.

“It’s a movie,” he said, not unhappy that Sam had chosen to squeeze himself next to him on the bed, “But I’ve heard about it. It’s too scary for babies like you to watch. We should just see what else is on or turn it off.”

“I’m not a baby!” Sam said immediately, then scowled as he realised how petulant and childish that sounded. “Why can’t I watch it?” he asked, trying instead for reasonable, “Has it got loads of naked bits? I’ll close my eyes for them, I swear.”

“Are you mad? Those are the bits that I’d want you to see,” Dean joked, prodding Sam in the side with his elbow. “But seriously, this is going to be too scary for you. I don’t think there are any naked bits in it, but it has blood and monsters.”

“Gross, no way would I look at the naked bits,” Sam said, screwing up his face and jostling Dean back with his elbow, forcing his brother to move over a little bit on the bed to give him more space. “Stop shoving or I’m gonna fall off!” He scrambled closer, grabbing one of Dean’s pillows to wedge under his chest. “As for monsters, I’m pretty sure I can handle them Dean, especially if they’re not actually real,” he said, rolling his eyes.

His Dad was a monster-hunter, like he was going to be scared of some movie monster. Okay, so maybe this far his only experiences with creatures had been second-hand; hearing his Dad tell Dean about what he’d been hunting while he was meant to be asleep, looking through his Dad’s journal and trying to spell out wendigo, but that had to count for something, right?

Dean opened his mouth to argue but then thought better of it. With a shrug of his shoulders, he just turned up the volume and said, “Well, if you think you can handle it, Sammy.” He shuffled back onto the bed so that he could rest his back up against the wall. Sam had taken one of his pillows so Dean leaned over to his brother’s bed and took both of his; propping them both up behind him to lean against.

“Tell me if you get scared, okay? But I’m not going to switch it off if we start watching it,” he teased and then warned.

“Who says I’m the one who’s going to get scared?” Sam shot back, grinning cheekily at his older brother. Dean looked like he was contemplating actually shoving Sam off of the bed, so he shut his cakehole, like a good little brother, and settled down to watch the film.


	2. Chapter 2

Honestly, the movie didn’t seem that scary to Sam. The guy narrating at the beginning and writing things down into a journal sort of reminded him of Dad, except a lot more dramatic. Dad’s journal was surprisingly dull, considering it was a record of him hunting down monsters and ghosts.

“Are you getting scared yet, Sammy?” Dean asked, prodding his brother in the back with his big toe, “Ooo, look, scary library. Wouldn’t want to go there.”

Sam didn’t bother replying, and Dean shut up as the movie moved from the present day to a flashback of what must have been one of the main characters’ childhood. The scene beforehand had been at some murder scene, but Sam hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden, momentary appearance of the clown in between the drying sheets. The scene was now of a boy lying in a bed; he looked about the same age as Dean, and he had a little brother who he’d made a paper boat for. They were putting something on the boat to make sure that it didn’t sink when the younger one went outside to play with it. He was dressed as if it were raining outside, so Dean could see that the paper boat needed all the protection it could get.

The movie was only ten minutes in and Sam was already feeling a bit restless. So far nothing much had happened, and he was torn between feeling smug that he wasn’t scared of some dumb movie, and regret that he hadn’t got Dean to put something else on, preferably something more interesting. He was just about to suggest they change channel when he saw it. The clown.

Carnivals and fairgrounds weren’t something their father ever bothered to take them to, but Sam had seen enough cartoonish representations to recognise what it was supposed to be. At the same time, it looked very different from the cheery, smiling ones he’d seen before; there was something sinister about seeing it on that suburban street (he didn’t want to question why it was in the sewer, even though that aspect only made it all the more sinister), the childishly bright colours of its costume garishly out of place against the grey concrete. It didn’t belong. This wasn’t a ghost in a haunted house, which no one in their right mind would go into, this was something strange, something wrong, invading the normal world of suburbia.

Sam didn’t like it, he didn’t like it at all. Still, he had told Dean he wasn’t going to be scared, and Dean would never let him live it down if he cried chicken ten minutes in, so he sucked it up and sat there stoically, watching silently as the little boy was dragged down into the sewer, presumably to be mutilated and killed. At least he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to get close to the clown, he thought to himself comfortingly. There was no need to be scared. If he ever met a clown in a sewer, he’d just make sure he stayed out of reach.  

“He should’ve just let the boat go, huh Dean?” he said, trying not to let his brother hear the slight quaver in his voice. “I would’ve. I wouldn’t have wanted to take a balloon either.”

“Maybe he thought the boat was special because his brother made it for him,” Dean said, not wanting to admit that he was shocked that they’d killed off the kid’s little brother in one of the very first scenes.

They didn’t say much else for a while. The movie went on and Dean found himself relating to the guy - Billy? - who’d lost his little brother. Even if he did look like a jackass as an adult. Dean didn’t want to get into why a ponytail just looked wrong on a dude, especially this dude. He was surprised that the guy’d managed to score himself such a hot wife. The other thing that got him was that when all the kids were adults, they just seemed to forget about what had happened to them. Dean knew, from some personal experience but mostly stories from his Dad, that if he’d seen blood spurting out of a sink plug, he would not so easily forget about it.

The worst thing about the movie, Sam thought, was that there were long stretches where scary stuff didn’t happen. He actually quite enjoyed being shown bits of the main characters’ childhoods in flashbacks, when it wasn’t being creepy.

One of the things Sam resented most about moving to a new town every couple of weeks was the fact he never got to have friends like the kids in the movie. He had Dean and most of the time that was pretty great, because Dean always made time for him, even if occasionally he moaned about getting stuck with babysitting duty. Sam knew he didn’t mind really, but then there were the times when Dad would go off with Dean and Sam would get left behind because he was too young. The fact that the movie made you get to know the kids actually made the scary bits worse though, because he didn’t want them to die, and sometimes he’d almost forget that there was something strange out there.

“Dean,” he began hesitantly, reluctant to ask in case his brother figured out how freaked out he was getting, “You know some horror movies have monsters that are actually real, well, this isn’t one of them, is it?”

“A clown that lives in the sewers and eats little kids?” Dean asked, thinking about it before properly answering. He hadn’t picked up on the fear that his little brother was feeling, too engrossed in the movie to be paying too much attention to anything else. “I dunno, Sammy, Dad’s told me about stranger shit. It could be real.” He paused, glancing down at the other. He was on his stomach, hugging the pillow underneath him tighter than he normally would. “But I bet Dad would know how to kill it, whatever it is.” Dean’s admiration for his father was difficult to dampen, even in the circumstances that they had currently been left in.  

“I guess,” Sam muttered dubiously. He wasn’t nearly as sure as Dean; he’d read pretty much all of his Dad’s journal, and while he’d never seen crazy killer clowns mentioned, that only meant his Dad hadn’t met them yet. Which meant he wouldn’t know how to kill them if they were real. Hugging the pillow tighter, Sam tried to concentrate on the movie but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d do if he heard a clown’s voice talking to him from the plugs in the shower room. “Dean, d’you know how to kill clowns?”

“Sure I do,” Dean said, with a great air of confidence, “twirl that mechanical bowtie that they all wear around enough times so that it either chokes them or electrocutes them.” He kicked his legs onto Sam’s back, noticing his grip on the pillow increase still further. “You know it’s a lot more comfortable sitting up here. I’m just saying. And there’s plenty of room.” This was his way of attempting to comfort Sam without him letting on that he knew he was scared.

“You think that’d work?” Sam asked, scrambling gratefully to sit up near his big brother. He was trying to picture the clown getting killed by its own bowtie and while it was a funny image, he wasn’t entirely convinced it would work in practice. Then again, Dean was older than him, and knew more about this sort of stuff since Dad actually talked to him about it. “What if you just made it angrier?”

“Then you’d squirt him with holy water in one of those little flower things they wear,” Dean continued to explain, hoping that his half thought up lies would be enough to silence his little brother. Still, it was fun to make this sort of stuff up. He knew that killer clowns, at least the kind shown in the movie, did not exist. It was just fun to pull Sam along for a little bit. He’d stop if the other looked like he was getting too scared. “And then you’d salt the body and burn it, like Dad told us to, just to make sure that it was dead,” Dean added, knowing that (for now) it was time for him to stop.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded shakily, “Okay, that’d work.”

He leaned into his brother’s side a little bit, not caring if Dean knew he was scared now. Sometimes Dean could be a bit of jerk, but when it really mattered he wouldn’t tease him. Sam knew Dean would always look out for him, always protect him, with the same kind of surety he knew that salt circles kept out the supernatural, Dean’s favorite pie was cherry, and the capital city of Kansas was Topeka. It was just a fact.

He felt some of his fear leave him, and finally picked up the courage to get off the bed and go to the bathroom like he’d been dying to for the last half hour.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Once away from the bed and the comfort of his brother, Sam’s bravery faded fast. His fear wasn’t helped by the fact that the motel bathroom was creepy as hell. At some point someone had decided to paint it a mouldy shade of green, which, combined with the flickering of the bare bulb overhead and the constant dripping of the tap, made it seem like the right setting for some seriously creepy goings-on.

He tried to pee as quickly as possible, then washed his hands, cringing as he watched the water gurgle down the drain, expecting at any moment a thin, reedy voice to start calling out of it. Drying his hands, he glanced upwards quickly, then shrieked as he saw something move at the edge of his vision.

“Crap!” he yelped, taking an involuntary step backwards and slipping on some spilled water. He tried to catch himself on the towel rail but missed, falling backwards to land with a bang against the door. Heart pounding, he scrambled to his feet, not willing to die without a fight - only to realise he’d just been spooked by his own reflection.

“Good going, idiot,” he told himself, watching his reflection mouth it back at him. He felt his cheeks flush as he realised how stupid he was being, letting some dumb movie get to him, and hoped Dean hadn’t heard the noise he’d made.

Dean had heard the commotion going on in the bathroom, but decided to just leave it. His hunch had been right in telling him that Sam was totally freaked out by the movie. He would tell him that he told him so afterwards. So long as Sam hadn’t actually knocked himself out or something - it was ominously quiet now.

“You alright in there, Sammy?” Dean shouted, not getting an immediate response back, “You’re going to miss the rest of movie if you stay in there.”

The truth was that Dean didn’t really want to be stuck watching the movie alone either. It was much better to have his brother around. Feeling like he needed to protect Sammy distracted him from his own fears.

“Come on out, Sam, otherwise the clown will come out of the drainpipes and get you!” he called out, not caring if that sounded mean or not. The movie was starting to get intense again, a big climactic ending, and he didn’t want to be watching it on his own when it ended.

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam grabbed a shoe off of the floor at the bottom of his bed as he exited the bathroom, and hurled it at his brother’s head, “That’s not funny.”

Huffing, he sat back down on the bed next to Dean, because even if he was mean, Sam wasn’t going to sit on his own right now. For a minute or so, they just sat in silence, ignoring each other -- or at least, Sam was ignoring Dean -- until he caved and asked what he’d missed. “What’s going on? Where’s Michael? He’s not dead, is he?”

“Nah, the clown dude spoke to Henry -- remember him? The kid with the cool leather jacket -- and told him to go kill all of them for revenge, or something. But when he tried to sneak up on them, he accidently got himself killed,” Dean tried to explain, shrugging as he did, “He got Michael with a knife and now he’s in the hospital. They’re all going back down into the sewers, like they did when they were kids, to try and kill the monster-clown-thing again.”

“Oh, I’m glad Michael’s not dead yet,” Sam said, “they better actually kill the clown this time. Should have salted it and burned it last time, right? No way would I have believed it was dead until I saw it die with my own eyes.”

Sam shook his head at the rookie mistake. Still, he had to give it to them for going back down into the sewers; he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to go back down there.

“Right you are, Sammy,” Dean said, proud of his little brother’s words, “Salt em’ then burn em’. You’re right, they should have done that first.” They watched for a little while longer until Dean felt the need to interrupt again. “Can you believe how ridiculous that guy looks with a ponytail, Sammy? Don’t ever grow your hair that long, okay? It’ll just get in the way.”

Sam snorted bitterly, “Like Dad would ever let me grow my hair like that, you know what he says about long hair - stupidest way to get yourself killed.” Maybe his Dad and Dean had a point about long hair not being the most practical hairstyle for a hunter, but since he wasn’t actually allowed to hunt yet anyway, he didn’t see why that rule applied to him.

“Yeah... and he’s right,” Dean said, his voice becoming quieter as he went back to concentrating on the movie.

He couldn’t believe that they were all going back into the sewers again, though he had to give it to them; his Dad had always said that when they both properly started hunting that they should finish whatever business that they started, that way less people would end up getting hurt. He liked the characters for sharing that same mentality.

Dean hadn’t really been bothered by anything else in the movie until that ponytail-haired guy’s little brother showed up again. Up until that point, he had managed to take everything in his stride, even when that kid Georgie had died at the very beginning. But Sam hadn’t been sitting next to him at the very beginning, and his own little brother’s presence was enough to remind him of all the horrible things he had to protect him from. That monster clown thing was using the main dude’s love for his little brother to try and catch him out. Dean swallowed, trying to find Sammy’s hand with his own without looking away from the screen. Maybe watching this movie with him hadn’t been a great idea, although it had shut him up. He didn’t ever want to have Sam used against him like this.

Sam was fighting the urge to cover his eyes. The movie had got to the really scary part now, the tension ramping up to almost unbearable levels. Heart hammering, he fought to keep his breathing under control as the evil force taunted the seven, now reduced to five. When Dean reached for his hand, he took hold, filled with silent gratitude at what he presumed was his older brother noticing his fear, and comforting instead of taunting him.

“No,” he burst out, as Eddie died on-screen. His grip tightened on Dean’s hand, probably to the point of pain, but he was too distressed to notice. “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” He refused to be hopeful, even as the gang left the sewers, moving out into the light, away from the claustrophobic darkness and the monsters it harboured.

“No, they got it,” Dean said, ignoring the pain in his hand as Sam squeezed it harder still, “You saw them get it, remember? They pulled it to pieces. No more killer clown.”

Dean waited until the end credits before picking up the remote and turning the TV off. “Time for bed, Sammy.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam remained sat on Dean’s bed, hands twisting the fabric of the sheets between his hands anxiously. With the comforting light of the TV off, the room looked much darker, shadows spilling from corners to creep towards him.

“What if it comes back again?” he asked, voice wobbling with fear. “What if it comes after them, and they don’t remember it, and it kills them?” He shook his head fiercely, “I bet it’s not dead! I bet it’s just tricking them! It just wants them to think it’s dead so it can kill them easier.” He was pretty much wailing by the end, too scared to be ashamed of crying like the baby Dean always called him.

“No Sammy, I’m pretty sure it’s dead,” Dean said, attempting to sooth his brother. It had definitely been a bad idea watching the movie right before it was time to try and sleep. “I promise that it’s dead. They took its body apart. Remember what Dad said? If something doesn’t have its head, then it’s dead.”

He got under the covers as he spoke, pulling them out of Sam’s hands and then over them both. There was an unspoken agreement between them that, if Sam needed to, they could share a bed tonight. It happened sometimes, and it had helped stop Sam from wetting his bed when he was younger. There hadn’t been a need for them to do it recently, and their Dad had got mad at them both when he found out, but Dean was okay with it still.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he said, turning on his side away from his little brother, “even if it did come back, which it wouldn’t because they killed it, they would remember it all again. They’d forgotten before and then remembered. Go to sleep, I’m here if you need me, okay? Go pee first.”

“No way,” Sam said obstinately, because like hell was he going back in that bathroom. That was just asking to get killed. He squirmed around until his back was pressed firmly against Dean’s; that way nothing was going to be able to sneak up behind him. “I still bet it’s alive,” he mumbled, peering out into the darkness of the motel room.

While it was dark, there was still enough light from the streetlights outside, pooling in through the window in orange streams, turning familiar shapes unfamiliar. It was worse than if it was completely dark, Sam thought miserably. Every now and then, a car would drive past, its headlights lighting up the whole room in a momentary flash that had Sam jumping, trying to see if he could spot anything while it was still bright.

Dean fell asleep as quickly as he always did, and Sam was left with nothing to distract him from the too quiet room except the soft sound of Dean’s breathing and the steady sound of water dripping. Logic told him it was just the motel tap being leaky, but he also knew that sometimes there really were things that went bump in the night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the jeering smile of the clown and heard it laughing maniacally in his ears. It felt like he’d never be able to sleep, in fact he was determined to stay awake, to keep watch. Dad always said to trust his instincts, and instinct was telling him there was something out there. Finally though, his eyes got too heavy and the darkness behind his eyes blended with the darkness in the room until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Blood was spattered everywhere. Balloons filled the room, crowding against him, and whenever he struggled more popped, spattering him with gore. “Dean,” he tried to scream, struggling, but his limbs felt unnaturally heavy.

“Sammy.”

He turned in the direction his name had been called from, relieved that at least he wasn’t alone. “Dean,” he screamed again, shoving the balloons aside, heedless now of the blood that soaked through his clothes, painting his skin crimson. He could see a shape moving, and surged towards it, “Dean!”

“That’s right, come to me Sammy,” the voice chuckled, transforming into something darkly gloating and malevolent in a way Dean’s could never sound. Too late, Sam realised he’d been tricked, and tried to move away, thrashing as It appeared, pushing aside balloons, grin wide as It moved towards him.

“No!” Sam howled.

Dean woke up instantly and was sitting up in a shot. He grabbed the knife, which his Dad had lent him for emergencies, and that he kept under his pillow, and held it firmly in his hand. His arm was outstretched and ready to come down upon any danger that might be out there. It took only a few seconds for him to register that there was nothing in the room, except Sam, whimpering next to him. Nightmare. Jesus Christ.

“Sam... Sammy, wake up,” Dean said, hitting his brother in the side as he put his knife away, “Wake up, Sam, you’re having a nightmare. Fucking hell, Sam, wake up!”

“Dean,” Sam screamed again, twisting violently, eyes snapping open. His breathing was ragged, broken, and for a few minutes the darkness was too disorientating for him to grasp what was going on. All he registered was the dark shape of a figure sat across from him, and he flinched away violently, before recognising Dean’s voice.

“Dean,” he gushed, so relieved to have found his brother. He reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulders, struck by the sudden fear it was just another trick. “Oh, man. It’s really you. The clown, Dean! It was here, it was pretending to be you to trick me!”

“It was just a bad dream, Sammy,” Dean said, irritated as he settled back down. This time he stayed facing his brother. “Don’t worry, if anything came in here to try and get you I’d get it.” He patted his pillow where he tucked his knife back under. “It was just a dream. I’ll keep watch, okay? You go back to sleep.”

“Just because it was a dream, doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen,” Sam insisted stubbornly, staying sat up, blankets clutched to his chest protectively.

It was true; he’d read about about incubi and succubi in his Dad’s journal, and while he was definitely certain It wasn’t one of them (or if it was, his Dad seriously needed to update his information), that just proved that there were supernatural beings that could invade dreams. “Okay,” Sam said, looking at Dean seriously, “You keep watch then. Don’t let it trick you, ‘kay?”

Sam laid back down in the bed, eyes still wide open, body tense. The light falling through the motel window had turned into the gloomy half-light that came just before dawn. They couldn’t have had more than three hours sleep; Dean looked grouchy and sleep-tousled still, but true to his word, he was sat up, back resting against the headboard, preparing to keep watch.

“Thanks,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, I won’t let it trick me. Don’t worry, Sammy, something like that wouldn’t be able to get past me. You just go back to sleep, okay?” Dean said, trying to calm his brother down again.

They’d have to keep their watching the movie a secret; their Dad would kill him if he found out that he’d let Sam watch a movie that had fake supernatural occurrences in it and made his little brother scared. Mostly for letting Sam watch something that had made him scared. Their Dad had never seemed to protect Dean in the same way as he did Sam from the monsters that he had told him far too much about.

“Sammy?” Dean said quietly when he was sure the other was asleep. There was no answer, which he was both thankful and disappointed for. He had wanted Sam to promise him that he wouldn’t tell Dad that he let him watch a scary movie. He’d tell him in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets back from his trip, and isn't happy when he finds out how the boys have been spending their time.

“Boys,” John called out as he opened the door to the motel room and stepped inside, “I’m back. Sam? Dean?”

He frowned. Normally by this point, Dean, at least, would have called out and come to check, one; that he was alright, and two; that he was him. A sudden wave of fear washed over him, a fear that had never truly left him since the night he’d found his wife pinned to the ceiling and burning before his eyes. His hand went to the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans, and he eased it out, then moved cautiously into the main room, grimly trying to prepare for whatever he might see.

His heart seemed to stop for a moment when he saw his boys lying motionless on Dean’s bed, at least until he saw their chests moving. For a moment, he felt dizzy with relief, coming as it did on top of the bone-deep exhaustion that came after a long hunt. Then the relief turned to anger; he’d been scared, and John Winchester wasn’t a man who liked feeling scared. 

“Boys,” he barked, harshly this time. What the hell were they doing, asleep at eleven in the morning, not even waking when he came in? It was careless, stupid and careless. 

Both Sam and Dean had managed to sleep. Dean had kept watch for about three quarters of an hour for his little brother, until his eyes could no longer physically stay open. By the time he went to sleep though, Sam was snoozing away happily; safe in the comfort of his brother’s company.

As soon as Dean heard his Dad’s voice, he flinched awake, roused almost instantaneously from his sleep, jerking guiltily awake. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up to see his father standing at the bottom of the bed. Sam was still asleep curled up next to him.

“Dad?” Dean asked, brain still sleep-muddled, “Are you done hunting?” He sat up, dislodging his little brother in the process. “I thought that-- you finished fast. Did you get it?”

“It’s dead,” John said shortly, although not without some satisfaction, annoyed with his sons as he might have been, “The real question is, why when I come back here, I find my two sons asleep in the middle of the day?” Eleven am might as well have been the middle of the day as far as John was concerned. “Sam I can just about understand, he’s just a kid, but you, Dean,” John shook his head, face set with disappointment as he looked down at his eldest son, “I expected better from you. Could’ve been anyone coming in that motel door, and you wouldn’t have known any different. I’ve known dead things that get up quicker than you.”

Dean wanted to argue back. He wanted to tell his Dad that he had, in fact, been on look-out for Sam. But then he would have to tell him that they watched a scary movie, and Dean had fallen asleep while he’d been on look-out. His Dad was right, killer sewer clowns aside, there were things out there that were more than capable of getting into their room and he should have been prepared for that. Shame filled his stomach as he stood up in front of his angry father.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, looking up at John. His turned to look at the bed again as his brother began to stir.

“Dean?” Sam yawned, sitting up and stretching. Blearily, he looked up at his Dad, brain still too sleep-fuzzy to recognise the warning signs that indicated their father was in one of his black moods, “You’re back early, Dad. Didn’t think you’d be done so soon.”

“I can see that,” John answered, grimly, “is this what it’s always like when I’m not around? You think that just because I’m not around to keep you in line, you don’t have to follow my rules?” By the time he finished, he was almost shouting. Sam looked a lot more awake, while Dean was almost curled in on himself, avoiding making eye-contact. 

A small, guilty part of John’s brain knew he was being too harsh, but he squashed the pangs of sympathy he felt, forcing himself to maintain the stern, fierce facade. It wouldn’t do them any good to coddle them, he told himself, maybe it’s not fair, but they can’t grow up soft, the world we live in would crush them. “I’ve already told Dean off,” he said, directing his words to his younger son, “so now it’s your turn. Can’t say I’m not fair. Why were you sleeping in your brother’s bed, Sam? Thought you were too old for that crap.”

Sullenly, Sam glared at his father, but didn’t quite dare to not answer. “... was scared,” he mumbled finally. His Dad looked unimpressed with this reason. “Don’t be mean to Dean,” Sam added, sitting up properly and scooting forward so he could press his shoulder against Dean’s in a show of brotherly solidarity. Dean looked almost as white and sick with fear as Sam had looked last night, and Sam hated seeing his older brother, one of the bravest people he knew, look like that. “He was only looking out for me, even though it was my fault I got scared by the movie!”

“Movie?” John frowned, annoyed and confused by Sam and his stubbornness, as he often was. “What’s he talking about, Dean?”

The moment Sam told their Dad not to be mean to him, Dean had inclined his body minutely towards him, trying to non-verbally convey the message to shut up Sam! The mention of the movie only made the urge that much greater. He swore to himself that he’d punch Sam later, as punishment for bringing it up.

Dean opened his mouth and started to answer, but closed it again when he realised that he wasn’t speaking loud enough for anyone to hear. He cleared his throat and tried again. Looking at the floor, just by their Dad’s feet, he mumbled, “We watched a movie last night before going to bed and Sam got scared.”

Silently, John scrutinised his two sons. Sam had one of his scrawny little arms hooked over Dean’s neck, as he glared up at John defiantly, while Dean still wasn’t making eye-contact with him. Sighing, John scrubbed a hand over his stubble as he tried to decide what approach to take. Damnit, Mary, they’re so like you sometimes, he thought hopelessly, heart aching as he looked at down at their boys, her boys. 

“I’m not going to ask,” John said flatly, giving up, “I’m going to bed. When I wake up, we’ll talk about this more. Particularly you, Dean. When I’m not around, you’re the one in charge. That means you have to take responsibility and look after your brother, you understand?” He waited until Dean nodded, then went and collapsed on the closest bed, not even bothering to yank his boots off. If Sam muttered something about him being a jerk and a lousy dad under his breath, he pretended not to hear it.

Dean stood motionless for a while after their Dad collapsed onto the bed that was supposed to have been Sam’s. Once he was sure the man was asleep, and therefore that it was safe to move, he went to the door of the motel room, leaving Sam on the bed. He didn’t care if his brother followed him or not, he just knew that he didn’t want to stay in there for any longer than he had to. Their Dad would be asleep for a good couple of hours, there was no point waiting around for him in the room to wake up. Besides, he’d be back by the time he woke up.

He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to walk, an urge that didn’t often take a hold of him, and think over what their Dad had said, and what else he was going to say to Dean when he woke up. On his way out, he passed the Impala and found the urge to walk leave him. There was always the off-chance that the car had been left unlocked, and even if it hadn’t been, Dean knew how to get in. It wasn’t locked, thankfully. He knew how much their Dad hated it whenever he broke into the car. He climbed into the back of the car, lying down on the back seats and hugged himself. 

“Dean?” Sam was regretting the decision to come after his brother without bothering to put any shoes on, but he hadn’t been able to find them in the room, and hadn’t wanted to risk waking their Dad up. 

Dean was laid out in the back of the Impala, face angled away from Sam. He could clearly hear Sam, but was choosing to ignore him for whatever reason. Sam sighed, hopping from first one foot and then the other, to brush loose the bits of dirt and gravel that had embedded themselves in the tender pads of his feet. He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong; he’d only been trying to stand up to Dad for Dean, but somehow that had made things worse. Pathetically, he knocked on the glass of the rear window, “C’mon, Dean, let me in.”

Dean wasn’t really surprised when he heard Sam knocking on the window of the car. After a couple of minutes of letting his brother wait for him outside he finally opened the door to let him in. He budged up on the seat so that there was room for his brother to sit down too.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know,” he said, once Sam had closed the door, “You shouldn’t have told him about watching the movie, and you shouldn’t have stood up to him like that. Dad was right to tell us off, I shouldn’t have slept in so late in case something bad did actually happen, and I should have made you sleep on your own, you are too old for me to baby like that.”

Sam’s face dropped. He hated when Dean did this, got all cold and stern. “You sound just like Dad,” he said bitterly, kicking at the back of the front seat, spitefully scuffing the leather, “I was just trying to stick up for you, since you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself.” Sam stopped, ashamed of himself. “I didn’t mean that,” he muttered, feeling tears prick his eyes, “You’re not a coward. I’m the one who got scared.”

He drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them miserably. The worst part was that he was still scared. That was the main reason he’d come after Dean; normally he would have let Dean go off on his own for a bit, knowing his brother liked to brood for a while whenever he got in trouble with their father.

“Jesus, Sam, don’t start crying,” Dean snapped, pushing his brother with his hand, “Don’t be such a damn crybaby.” 

However, he quickly relented and put his arm around his little brother. His little brother’s tears did nothing to help stop the stinging of his own eyes. But he couldn’t cry, not with Sam in the car with him. Usually when their Dad told him off Sam would let him go off on his own for a bit and not bother him, it was in that time that Dean beat himself up the most and, yeah, maybe sometimes even cried. There was no way that that was happening with Sam with him.

A couple of hours later, John woke to find himself alone in the motel room. He wasn’t all that surprised when he found the boys huddled together in the back of the car, they generally ended up there whenever he yelled at them. Part of him wanted to give them a hug, tell them sorry, that he loved them, damnit, that it was just hard trying to raise kids, but apologising would mean admitting he’d messed up.

“Go get your stuff,” he said gruffly, “we’re leaving. There’s a town twenty miles to the south with what looks like a ghoul problem.”

Sam and Dean nodded, and went and got their stuff. John watched them go. I’m trying, Mary, he thought, I’m trying.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John manages to comfort one son, but it comes at the cost of the other son's happiness.

In less than half an hour, they were on the road again, rock music blaring from the stereo. John’s mood improved the further they got away from the last town, his anger and sadness ebbing away with each mile they put behind them, and soon they were pulling up in front of a diner. “You boys hungry?” John asked, pulling out a wad of cash and peeling off two ten dollar bills, “How about we treat ourselves? We can have as many burgers and slices of pie as we want.”

Sam and Dean’s mood had improved too. Dean enjoyed the music that their Dad played whenever they were driving, though he wasn’t sure he could say the same thing about Sam. Nevertheless, Sam had enjoyed the ride too; despite himself, he always felt optimistic about heading to a new place, like maybe things would be different there, no matter how many times he’d had that proved wrong. Besides, the further they drove, the further they got away from that creepy motel. 

Dean couldn’t contain his excitement at the prospect of eating as many burgers and as many slices of pie as he could possibly cram in his mouth, and everything was okay between them and their Dad again. Things seemed to be looking up. He couldn’t help but revert back to the child that he tried so hard to suppress.

“I’m going to eat so much pie,” Dean was bragging, “but first I’m going to eat as many burgers as you do, Dad. What flavours do they have? I hope they have cherry. Sammy can have apple. Do you think they do both?”

“Probably, son,” John said, good-naturedly, glad that both his sons’ seemed to be on speaking terms with him again, “That sound good to you, Sammy?”

“Can I have a salad instead of burgers?” Sam asked.

John’s face twisted in exasperation and confusion for a moment, because what kind of kid begged his dad not to buy him a burger, before he decided to just let it go. “Sure, boy. Whatever you want.” He shook his head, but mostly out of amusement. 

“Cool,” Sam grinned. Dean’s face showed clearly that he disagreed, but before the fledgling peace could be broken, John stepped out of the car. “Out, both of you. First one in the diner gets a milkshake.”

Immediately the two were off, running across the ground, kicking up dust in their wake. John followed at a more sedate pace; he’d done enough running recently. Inside, John ordered two burgers, a salad for Sam, all with fries, a coffee, and two milkshakes to stop the budding argument over who had won, and whether or not the finish line had been the door to the diner or the table. “Both of you, shut up. Why are you talking when you could be eating?”

Dean stopped teasing Sam about ordering a salad as soon as their Dad said that. Instead, he started to eat his burger, trying to keep up with John. He was scolded to slow down when he started to get food on his clothes. Sam ate his food happily, laughing at Dean as he tried to eat the burger and chips at the same time to try and catch up with their Dad. When it came to dessert they were both pleased to see that they did have more than one flavoured pie. And Dean did order a slice of cherry and Sam did order a slice of apple.

“You even going to have room for that pie?” Sam teased, going to cut at the pie with his fork, “If not, I could eat it for you?” He laughed at the expression on Dean’s face, and the possessive way Dean leaned over his plate, before stabbing into his own pie. Which started leaking blood.

“N-no,” he stuttered, pushing the plate back so violently it fell to the floor and smashed, more crimson liquid oozing slowly out of it. It was just like in the movie. He’d thought he was safe, but he wasn’t. It had been stupid to ever believe that It wasn’t going to get him.

“What the hell’s the matter, Sam?” John asked, bewildered, as his younger son freaked out, holding the dull diner knife out in front of him like a weapon. People were looking over, craning their necks curiously to find the cause of the commotion, and Dean wasn’t helping detract attention, laughing uproariously.

“It’s my pie,” Sam practically howled.

“Your pie?” John asked, confused.

“It’s bleeding!”

“I’m so sorry!” The waitress who had taken their order rushed over to the table. John smiled at her distractedly, wondering why the hell she was apologising to them. “I got the pie orders mixed up! He wanted apple, not cherry, right?”

“Right,” agreed John, “you know kids, get upset over the stupidest things.”

The waitress apologised again, and rushed off. “Okay,” John said slowly, fixing Dean with a stern look, “What movie did you guys watch last night?”

Dean’s laughter stopped as soon as John looked down at him. He swallowed the mouthful of pie that was still in his mouth. He couldn’t enjoy its taste with their father now looking at him like that.

“That movie IT, the one based off that thing by Stephen King,” he answered, looking up at their Dad with wide eyes. Hopefully he wouldn’t know what it was about, or that it was a horror movie. “It’s not my fault he got scared!” Dean tried to argue, his previous words met only by silence. The waitress put another slice of pie on their table before fetching a mop to clean up the mess that had been made on the floor.

Closing his eyes, John counted to ten in his head. “Okay,” he said mildly, opening his eyes again. Dean looked profoundly relieved at John’s reaction. “I don’t think I have to tell you what a dumb idea that was,” he jerked his head towards Sam, who was staring down at his new slice of pie with grave suspicion. “Damnit, Dean!” John exploded, no longer able to keep a lid on his temper. The rest of the customers in the diner, who’d begun to lose interest when the pie-fiasco seemed sorted, swivelled round in their seats again. 

“He’ll get over it eventually, right?” Dean asked, wincing as Sam twitched and went pale as a kid holding a balloon walked in.

John didn’t answer, because anything he had to say at that moment would have gotten them thrown out of a family-friendly place. The rest of the meal was spent in an icy silence, and the car ride on to the next motel was not much better. Not a word was spoken when they reached the place they were staying at either. 

John, as he normally did, rented out two rooms: one for him to track whatever he was hunting, and one for Sam and Dean to share. He put the boys to bed, giving Dean a stern warning to mind what he put on TV, and that he would know if Dean put on anything that he shouldn’t, before he went into his own room to try and track down the thing that was terrorising this town.

Their Dad’s words were still buzzing in Dean’s head as he sat on the bed which he had chosen to sleep in. “You’re such a little bitch,” he said to Sam, who was standing in a corner, “How could you get scared of a slice of pie?! Jesus, Sam! I even ordered the cherry pie, you knew it was safe!”

“I wasn’t expecting my pie to be cherry!” Sam argued, glaring at Dean, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. His very public freak-out kept playing itself over and over in his mind, and while he knew that he’d allowed his fear to overcome his common sense in the diner, at the same time he still couldn’t rid himself of the lingering dread that had him jumping at every little noise, half-convinced that the clown was just waiting for him to let his guard down. It was this fear that had him swallowing his pride and confessing to Dean, “Look, I acted stupid in the diner, but I really think there’s something here. Have you seen the drain pipes outside, Dean? They’re so wide! Why do they need such big drainpipes, huh?”

Frantically, Sam grabbed Dean by the wrist and tried to drag him over to the window to show him. He grunted; Dean was considerably taller and heavier than him, and was digging his heels in stubbornly, not wanting to move. “Don’t be such a jerk, Dean!” Sam shouted, “You and Dad are always going on about being alert, right? Well, I’m telling you something’s not right!”

“What’s not right is you thinking more like a kid than a hunter!” Dean argued back, reluctantly letting Sam drag him over to the windows to look. Nevertheless, he looked out of the window just to check that everything was in order, which of course it was, because Sam was just being a dumbass kid, and letting his stupid nightmares interfere with reality. “They’re average sized drainpipes, Sam. Everywhere has them that size. You’re not being alert, you’re just being stupid! Dad wouldn’t be happy with you letting your imagination getting the better of you! What d’you think he’d say, if he saw you carrying on like this, huh?”

Sam flinched at Dean’s diatribe, shrinking in on himself so he looked even smaller. Dean immediately wished he could smack himself in the face and take back what he’d said. None of what he’d said, true as it was, had helped. Sam still looked scared, hazel eyes wide under those ridiculous floppy bangs.

Dean groaned, knowing he was going to regret what he was about to do, but knowing he’d regret not trying even more. “Wait here, okay, I’m going to go and ask Dad if he thinks this place is safe or not. If it isn’t you know what to do. The salt is in my bag, go grab it if you think you’ll need it. I’ll be right back.” And with that Dean went to the door and left, not looking back on Sam who seemed to be satisfied that he was going to try and do something to settle his fears.

Once outside, Dean moved along to stand outside their Dad’s door. He would be busy working right now and had hung up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his door handle. Dean swallowed, putting a slightly shaking fist to the door as he knocked. After a pause, he knocked the door again. No one came to the door, but he heard his dad yell from inside, “Can’t you read the sign?”

“Dad,” Dean said quietly, then coughed to clear his throat, “Dad, it’s me.”

“Dean?” John responded, getting up from the table he had been working from and rushing over to the door. He opened it to see his eldest son standing there. “Where’s Sam?” he asked immediately, taking in their surroundings quickly to see if there were any sort of threat, before pulling Dean into his room by his shirt. He slammed the door shut after him. “You know to come into my room if there’s any emergencies. Don’t just stand around outside, wasting time. Where’s your brother?”

“He’s in our room,” Dean said, shamefully, knowing for a fact that this didn’t qualify as an emergency, “he’s okay.”

John looked momentarily relieved, before annoyance overtook the other emotion.“Then what is it, boy? You know that I’m busy.”

“He’s scared, Dad. He’s scared that the clown from the movie is going to come out of the pipes and get him,” Dean tried to explain, although he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. He knew his Dad thought that it was stupid and that Sam shouldn’t be scared. “I told him not to be such a baby but he wanted me to get you. If you tell him that it’s safe here then maybe he’ll stop being so--”

“That’s enough.” John said, cutting Dean off. “I’m not going in there to tell him anything. The world’s a scary place and it’s about time that your brother learned to deal with that fact. You ruined his chances of being able to live in ignorance of it for a little while longer when you let him watch that movie, Dean, and that is your fault alone. But he had to learn sometime.” His voice grew louder with every word, and it was a certainty that Sam could hear him from the other room by the end of the rant. “Now go back to your room. Tell your brother to grow up. And do not come to me unless it is an emergency! You hear me? Unless you both think there’s something about to attack you I don’t want to see you in here! Do you understand? You might not have realised this, but I’m tracking a real monster right now, and real people are getting hurt. NOT SOME STUPID KILLER CLOWN FROM A STUPID MOVIE THAT YOU LET YOUR BROTHER WATCH!”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir,” Dean said automatically, flinching as their Dad shouted at him. He took the punishment as stoically as he could. 

John was already hunched over the table he’d been working on by the time Dean reached the door. He didn’t dare look back at their Dad, eyes blurry with tears that would only anger his father further, heading straight back to their room instead.

The quiet that came after the muffled yelling scared Sam more than the shouting had. Silence meant that Dean wasn’t arguing back, wasn’t bothering to defend himself to their father. Sam wanted to get up and scream at John that it wasn’t Dean’s fault, that maybe if he was was around more that Dean wouldn’t have to be the one responsible for him. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was the knowledge he would only make things worse. He’d already fucked things up enough. 

Dean entered their room, letting the door click shut quietly behind him, before moving to flop face down on his bed. Sam watched helplessly, hands balled into fists on his knees. He wasn’t sure what to do. The silence weighed down on him oppressively. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice, when he finally gathered up the courage to speak, was very small. “Sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said, pushing himself up to look over at his little brother, “Dad was right though. You have to stop being scared over this stupid little thing. It was just a movie. You already know that there are real monsters out there, and you can’t be scared of them when you have to hunt them down and kill them!” 

He didn’t mean to be getting angry at Sam again. But damn it! He had tried his best to make his brother feel better, but their Dad hadn’t wanted to listen, and he was angry about that. 

“Look,” Dean said, getting up, “Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll check the stupid room for you, okay? But just for tonight. And don’t tell Dad.” 

“Don’t bother!” Sam shoved at Dean, making him stumble and sit back down. Sam had tried to just sit there and take it when Dean told him off, but his remorse at getting his brother in trouble had turned into indignation when he realised that, once again, Dean was siding with their Dad.

“I’m not a coward just because I’m scared by a movie, okay? I know there are things out there, I know things exist that most people would say are impossible! So why is it so stupid to believe that it could be real, huh?” Sam was panting by the end of his rant, chest heaving with barely restrained emotion. As suddenly as the anger had come over him, it went, leaving him tired and sick of everything. “You ever thought that maybe I don’t want to hunt monsters?”

The question was rhetorical. Sam doubted it had ever crossed Dean’s mind that there were options other than living like they did now. He shook his head, and started to get changed for bed, not wanting to argue anymore.

Dean had nothing to say to his brother’s outburst. Sam’s words cut into him, just a little, when he came to see that he didn’t know how to do to do right by his brother. Instead Dean took solace in the silence, falling back down onto the bed, his head hitting the pillow.

“Fine,” he said, “I’m going to sleep.”

Still, Sam’s outburst hung in the air between them. If Sam didn’t want to hunt monsters what exactly did he want to do? What else could he do? This is what they’d been raised up into. As far as Dean was concerned, they didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was about to warn his brother not to tell Dad that he didn’t want to be a hunter but decided against it. Maybe if Sam brought it up around their Dad, he would be the one to get shouted at for a change, though Dean was sure that the blame would be pinned down on him somehow. It always was. This was the last thought in his head as he fell asleep.

Sam lay silently in the dark, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He kept opening his mouth to apologise, before snapping it shut, still too mad to be the one to back down. After a while it was too late, Dean’s breathing slowed and evened out into the easy rhythm of deep sleep. Sam was the one left awake. His eyes were burning with exhaustion from last night’s disturbed rest, and he felt a surge of envy at the way Dean could just fall asleep. He wished he’d taken Dean up on his offer to look around, even if Dean would only have been humoring him. For a moment, he debated getting up to try and check around himself, but fear and tiredness kept him pinned to the bed. He curled in on himself, drawing the blankets over his head in what he knew would be a futile act of self-defence if there really was anything out there. 

What felt like minutes later, he woke, jerking upright, a stifled scream in his throat. It had been a different nightmare this time, but no less horrible. Already the details were slipping away, like water through a net, but the sensation of horror stayed with him. He dropped his head into his hands, fighting to keep his sleep-heavy eyelids from closing. His body was caught between the the conflicting need for sleep and knowledge that if he tried to sleep now, he’d just have more nightmares. 

Forcing himself to move, Sam swung his legs over the bed, valiantly not imagining someone reaching out from under the bed to pull him, kicking and screaming, under. “Dean?” he whispered. No response, his brother slept on.

Sam was too proud to wake his brother, couldn’t face being called a coward again, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t go back to sleep alone. Too tired to think better of it, he got out of the bed and trod quietly out of the room. 

Outside the door to his father’s room, Sam hesitated before knocking. Part of him wanted to turn back and go back to bed, but even with how angry his Dad made him, John still meant safety to Sam. He knocked on the door and waited 

“Sam?” His Dad frowned down at him, silhouetted from behind by the warm, comforting yellow glow of electric light that spilled out from his room.

Mutely, Sam nodded and pushed past John, carefully stepping over piles of paper to throw himself down on his Dad’s bed. It didn’t look like he’d been planning on using it anyway tonight. “Couldn’t sleep,” Sam mumbled into the pillows, refusing to look at his father. 

There was a pause. Sam couldn’t tell what his Dad was thinking, and didn’t want to lift his head to look at him and find out. 

“Okay,” John said, finally. His tone was unusually gentle, threaded with emotions Sam was too tired to identify. He felt the warm weight of his father’s hand rest on his head for a brief moment. “Just for tonight, though.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, relieved that his Dad wasn’t getting mad. His gratitude didn’t stop him from adding, “Doesn’t mean I f’give you for makin’ Dean sad.”

John snorted, “Your brother doesn’t need you sticking up for him.”

“Sure he does,” Sam insisted stubbornly, although the impact was somewhat spoiled by him yawning hugely. Shifting round on the bed, he lay so he could watch as John sat cross-legged on the floor, shifting through the piles of paper that surrounded him. “He never sticks up for himself, so somebody’s got to.”

“Go to sleep, Sam,” John said, sounding weary but amused. 

“Can’t sleep,” Sam muttered, “I told you. That’s the problem.”

Sighing, John rose to his feet and walked over to Sam. For a moment, Sam thought his dad was going to kick him out, make him go back to his own dark room, where there was nothing to protect him from evil clowns but his sleeping brother with a knife under his pillow. Then John was bending down, strong arms lifting him up, carrying him as he moved back to the floor.

“You’re heavier than you were the last time I did this,” his Dad said, sounding nostalgic as he settled Sam in his lap, “Bigger too.”

“Not a baby,” Sam mumbled. He did feel safer like this though, close enough to smell the comforting scent of whiskey and gun-oil that clung to his Dad’s clothing. Closing his eyes, he relaxed for the first time since watching the movie, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Although Dean hadn’t woken at the sound of Sam calling his name, he did wake as the door clicked shut. He sat up, not sure why he had woken but feeling instinctively that something was off, poised and ready with his knife. Turning over, he checked his brother’s bed, thinking he might have been woken by Sammy making a noise in his nightmares, only to find the bed empty. Panic surged through him. He shot out of bed and searched the bathroom frantically, calling out to Sam that this wasn’t funny, fear mounting when it became obvious Sam was nowhere in the room.

This definitely constituted an emergency. He went straight to his Dad’s door, intending to hammer on it until his father opened up, until he caught a glimpse of movement in the window of his Dad’s room. Habit had him peeking through the glass of the window first to make sure that it was his Dad still in there, that whatever had taken Sam hadn’t got him too. What he saw made his stomach sink, although at least now he didn’t have to worry that something had hurt his Dad or Sam.

From what he could see, through the small chink in the curtains, Sam was sitting in their Dad’s lap as he looked over paperwork for his current job. His little brother seemed to be sleeping soundly, and their Dad would occasionally ruffle his hair absently. Dean gulped down what he refused to acknowledge were tears. He didn't know how long he stood there looking in on them, knowing that he couldn’t go in and join them, but it felt like hours. Eventually he went back to bed, where the image of his father and his brother burned itself into the darkness behind his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a misadventure at McDonald's, which somehow ends up with Dean getting a burger down his back. John is so done with all this.

“Time to rise and shine, kid.”

Sudden brightness fell on Sam’s face, making him scrunch his eyes even more tightly in an attempt to keep the sunlight from waking him fully. Disorientated, he sat up, blinking as his eyes adjusted, wondering why he wasn’t in him and Dean’s room. His Dad was stomping around the room, scattering sheets of paper heedlessly as he went. 

“You figured it out?” Sam asked, recognising the signs.

“Sure did, might have taken me most of the night, but I figured it out eventually.” John pulled on his leather jacket, patting the pockets absently as he checked their contents. “I’m going to be out all day, can I trust you and your brother not to be stupid this time?”

“Weren’t being stupid, not our fault there’s nothing to do,” retorted Sam. 

John stopped and gave him a look. “Enough of that cheek, boy.”

Sam kept quiet, but didn’t apologise. 

“You’ve got some nerve, you know that?” John shook his head, but pulled out his wallet and counted out a couple of notes. “Here, that should be enough to keep the both of you out of trouble for the day. Take yourself to the fair, or something.”

“The fair?” Sam spluttered, horrified, “Are you crazy, Dad? D’you how many clowns--?” Abruptly, he stopped, glaring as he caught his Dad trying to hide a grin. “It’s not funny,” he said sourly.

“Sure it is,” John disagreed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Now get out of here and tell your brother I’ll be back later, and that he’s to take care of you.”

Dean was already awake when Sam went back into the room, motel bed made, sheets tucked to form neat, crisp hospital lines. If Dean had wondered where he’d got to last night, he held his tongue, not saying anything to Sam, instead just leaning over to grab the notes out of his hand and tuck them into his own pocket. Sam let them go without a fight. 

“Dad said for you to take care of me today,” Sam informed him, “Even though I don’t need taking care of.”

Those last words Dean very much doubted, especially seeing that Sam had needed to go into their Dad last night just so he could get to sleep. He wanted to say something about that but decided not to bring it up. Sam probably didn’t want to admit that he’d turned to Dad for comfort, given his general attitude towards their father, and Dean didn’t want to discuss with his brother something that it hurt him not to have been a part of.

“Okay,” he said, letting the moment to ask go, “What do you want to do today then? I think we should go and get breakfast first.”

“Sure,” Sam said agreeably. Getting a good night’s sleep had done a lot to improve his mood, and he was feeling guilty over how he’d blown up at Dean that night. 

The clerk on duty at the motel desk was more than willing to give them directions to the nearest fast-food outlet, charmed by Dean’s attempts to flirt with her, despite the fact she was more than old enough to be their mother. Soon, they were outside, walking along the sidewalk in the direction the clerk had assured them lead to the nearest McDonald’s. 

Sam was feeling pretty good; it was hard to feel scared when the sun was out, beating down from a perfectly blue sky, cars driving past as people went about their perfectly normal lives. Bad things happen everywhere, he reminded himself, their Dad was on a job in this town, after all. Still, the ever present fear he’d been carrying around since they’d watched It had finally dissipated.   
“Today’s gonna be fun, huh Dean?” he said, grinning as they arrived in front of the McDonald’s, “Hey, looks like something’s going on? Maybe they’re giving out free ice-cream?” He craned his head, trying to see over the heads of the small crowd of people gathering by the restaurant doors. “C’mon, I want to see what’s happening.”

Without waiting for a response from Dean, Sam moved into the crowd, winding through the people to find out what was happening.

“Yeah, today is going to be fun,” Dean said, as they walked towards the crowd of people that were gathered outside of the fast food restaurant. Really, it should have clicked in his head that McDonalds would not be the place to go after Sam’s new found fear of clowns. It should have also clicked that the only thing that would be standing outside of a McDonalds would be some poor guy, just in need of a job, handing out free balloons. Unfortunately, none of this did fall into place for Dean until they had already pushed to the front of the crowd to see what was going on.

“Hey kiddo,” the man in the clown costume smiled, spotting Sam and mistaking the way he’d suddenly gone silent and still for shyness, “want a balloon?” He held out a blue balloon, red mouth stretched in a wide grin.

For a moment, Sam just stared at the proffered balloon. The clown began to look a little impatient, “C’mon kid! Take the balloon, it’s free.”

“No!” Sam suddenly screeched, batting the balloon away. The clown must have filled it up a little too much, because the balloon burst at the contact.

That was all it took to set off all the other kids standing in the vicinity; babies screamed, faces scrunching up as they cried, toddlers wailed and tried to run away while parents dived after them. The man in the clown costume looked like he wanted to quit. Spotting Dean, who had grabbed Sam and was trying to calm him down, the clown swooped down on them, friendly smile gone. “Hey, who’s in charge of this kid?”

Mistaking the clown’s advance for an attack, Sam did the bravest thing he could and stepped in front of Dean. “Get away from my brother!” He stamped down on the clown’s foot; luckily the man was wearing oversized clown shoes, and Sam didn’t actually hit any of his toes. 

“Woah, woah, hey,” Dean said, pulling Sam back behind him. As much as he appreciated his little brother’s attempts to protect him, it was definitely misplaced. The crowd was beginning to disperse, hurrying their children away from the no longer friendly looking clown. He had been in the middle of pulling Sam away from there, just wanting to get into the fast food joint so they could get their breakfast and get the hell out, but now the clown dude was standing in their way. “Nobody’s in trouble, Sam, especially not me, so just calm down, alright?” 

Once Sam had stopped squirming, and was holding tightly onto Dean’s jacket (which he chose to ignore), he looked up at the man in the clown suit. “Sorry-- he’s just-- he’s scared of clowns,” he said quickly, pushing Sam in the direction of the place’s entrance. The last thing he wanted was to get into trouble with some guy who was dressed like a dick. When they were inside he hit the back of his brother’s head. “You’re an idiot, you know that Sammy?” 

“Ow,” Sam wailed, clutching his head and glaring at Dean. “I was just trying to protect you,” he said, bitter at the sheer unfairness of life, “You could thank me, you know. I could’ve died.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, walking up to where they ordered, “Hi, I’d like two cheese burgers, fries and coke please. Take away.”

They waited five minutes for their order to be got together and then swiftly left. Dean gave Sam the bag of food to carry back to their motel room. The walk back to the place was in an awkward silence. Sam was still fuming about Dean’s lack of ability to be grateful for him risking his life for him, and Dean was irritated that Sam still had this stupid fear of clowns, which he really needed to get over. Back in the motel room, Dean decided to have it out with his little brother.

“What do you think you were playing at, Sam? All the guy wanted to do was give you a balloon, nothing supernatural about that. I mean you could tell he was wearing a wig, and he hadn’t put on that face paint stuff very well.”

“Well how was I meant to know there’d be a clown there?” Sam retorted, snatching the bag of food away from Dean and sitting sulkily on the bed pick at his burger. He’d lost his appetite after the scare, adrenaline-rush fading to leave him feeling nauseous. Seeing that clown in front of McDonald’s had been like living through a nightmare. He picked up one of his fries and threw it at Dean, snickering when it got stuck in his brother’s hair. 

“It was a McDonalds! Of course there were going to be clowns there!” Dean shouted, only stopping when he felt something hit his head and stick. He picked the fry out of his hair and threw it back at his little brother. “Your food is for eating, Sam, not throwing at me. It was hard enough to get that without you being told off by that guy in the suit!”

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam pretended to yawn, like he was bored by what Dean was saying, knowing it would wind his brother up even more. Dean had been acting stroppy all day, and Sam was sick of his brother taking it out on him. “I don’t want to eat it. I didn’t want to get burgers in the first place, that was your dumb idea, so really, this is all your fault!” He grabbed another handful of fries and threw them at Dean petulantly. 

“That was the closest place, the lady said!” Dean argued, dodging the fries that came flying at his head, “And you should have said something when we were there! Maybe if you weren’t too busy being scared of that stupid clown, you’d have something that you’d want to eat.” 

Dean wasn’t stupid enough to start throwing his own food at his little brother; food was meant to be eaten, but anything that was thrown at him was fair game. Quickly, he took out his burger and took two large bites out of it, before grabbing a few of the fries Sam had thrown at him and threw them right back. He missed his aim, which had been his little brother’s eyes, but that only told him that he needed to practise more. Their Dad would be mad if he missed the target in an important, and probably dangerous, situation.

Sam had no such compunctions about wasting food. Smirking, he grabbed his burger and threw the whole thing at Dean’s head. The burger flew through the air, before landing with an audible splat against Dean’s face, smearing him with ketchup and grease before falling into his lap. “Here, you can have mine.”

Dean was not expecting the burger in his face. It hit hard and slowly, almost comically, slipped down his face. At first he was angry, furious, at his little brother, and he was about to retaliate when he saw the burger fall onto the floor. Everything else aside, that had been a good throw. He picked it up and grinned.

“That was a pretty good throw, Sammy,” he said, taking aim to throw the battered burger back at his brother, “but not as good as this one.” The burger threw through the air and hit Sam in the shoulder. Before his brother could take aim again Dean had shot under the bed, taking his own burger with him to keep it safe. Safely ensconced under the cover of the bed, he began to throw the rest of the fries he’d saved back at Sam.

“No,” Sam whined, trying to rub off the ketchup that had splattered over his plaid shirt, “that was the only clean shirt I had left, you dick.”

It was war. Sam dropped to his knees and scurried towards the bed, grabbing hold of Dean and trying to drag him out from out under it. He kept trying to drop the meat from his burger down the back of Dean’s t-shirt, something which Dean was fervently and violently trying to prevent. He’d just got it down Dean’s collar when they heard the the scrape of keys in the motel door. They both froze, guilty.

“--turns out it was a dead end,” John was saying as he stepped over the threshold of the motel door. He stopped dead in his tracks though as he took in the aftermath. Ketchup was smeared over the walls, fries trampled into the carpet, his children covered in more of the same mess. 

Wearily, he dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his stubble. He felt old and tired; he hadn’t slept at all last night, hadn’t shaved in a few weeks, his clothes crumpled and stained and sweaty. The last thing he needed was to come home to this. “I’d ask what the hell you two think you’re playing at, but clearly neither of you are thinking at all. Jesus, Dean, after what I talked to you about the other night as well?” 

Dean had been in the middle of smushing some of the lettuce from the burger into Sam’s face, when their Dad came in. He’d been so caught up in what they had been doing that he didn’t think to listen out for the motel door. He shot up to his feet when John came in.

“We... We were just messing around, Dad,” Dean tried to explain, looking up at his father’s not-so-understanding face, “Sammy didn’t want his burger so he decided to-- We were only messing around.”

“That’s it, I’ve had it,” John growled, at the end of his tether, “I’m dropping you off at Bobby’s tomorrow. He can deal with your crap for a while.”

“Oh,” Sam said, trying not to perk up too visibly at the ‘punishment’, “sorry Dad.”

Dean tried to hide his own excitement. Going to Bobby’s usually meant a nice bed, home cooked meals (even if Bobby wasn’t the greatest at cooking) and being able to play around a bit. The chances of Dad setting them something to practise while staying there was high, but Bobby would have their back. He always let him and Sammy mess around for a couple of days. “Sorry Dad.”

John glared at his sons, not fooled at all by their mournful faces. If it wasn’t more for his benefit than theirs, he’d have changed his mind about dropping them at Bobby’s, but he’d really had more than enough. “Not as sorry as you will be. Now, clean this mess up.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John drops the boys off at Bobby's. Sam and Dean talk to Bobby, and Bobby cleans up some of John's mess yet again.

John was true to his word. The next day, he had them up before dawn, driving down the highway to Bobby’s as the sun rose. They arrived at Bobby’s just after midday, and John stuck around only long enough to see Sam run up to Bobby for a hug. 

Dean was a little more aloof, but John didn’t miss the eager, bright, open look on his elder son’s face as Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. It hurt a little; John was used to the wariness that Dean wore around him, couldn’t even blame the boy, or say it was totally unjustified, but it still stung to see the obvious affection Dean felt for Bobby. Dean never acted like that around him anymore, knew better. John told himself it had been a necessary sacrifice; Dean needed to respect him, to obey him instantly without hesitation if he wasn’t going to get killed out in the field, and that meant he needed to fear John. 

Bobby didn’t agree. It was one of the things they argued about, and would never agree on. Nowadays, Bobby had given up arguing with John, but John knew he hadn’t changed his stance, just learnt to hold his tongue. As he should. John liked Bobby, and trusted him with the boys, but he had no right to question John’s parenting methods. As he’d pointed out last time they’d had this argument, it’s not like Bobby’d ever got to be a father. It had been a vicious remark, perhaps a step too far, and he knew Bobby had never forgotten it, but it was true. He didn’t know what it was like to raise kids into this way of life, and maybe John wasn’t a perfect father, maybe he was cruel, but you had to be cruel to be kind sometimes, because kindness killed, made you weak. He wouldn’t have his boys turn soft and weak, vulnerable and easy prey. 

“Take care of them,” he nodded to Bobby, then turned and clapped Sam on the shoulder, fixing him and Dean with a firm look, “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, both of you had better be ready to go when I get here, with no more foolishness.”

Dean and Sam nodded obediently at their father, then turned and watched him go. They waited until they could no longer see the Impala on the road before running up to the front door of Bobby’s house. Dean let Sam chase him there, for a change, and even let him catch him. Bobby followed them in, walking at a more leisurely pace. It was good to have the boys home with him again. 

They were both messing around in the living room when he finally caught up to them. It didn’t take long for him to start questioning what had happened this time that he’d had them dumped on him again, words he meant in a loving way although they sounded cruel.

“We had a food fight in a motel room,” Dean said, scuffling Sammy’s hair as they both sat on the couch to talk to Bobby, “And Dad got angry.” He decided to leave out the rest of it. If Sam brought everything else up then that was his business, but Dean wasn’t going to play any part in it.

“And that’s all you boys did?” Bobby asked doubtfully, sitting down in his chair, “Nothin’ else?”

Sam shot Dean a glance, biting his lip and wondering whether or not he should confide in Bobby. While his Dad may have been pretty nice when Sam had gone to his motel room that night, he had still scoffed and dismissed Sam when he tried to talk about why he was scared. Maybe him and Dean were right, and Sam should just learn to deal with it and not be such a scaredy-cat. “Pretty much.”

“Right...” Bobby said shrewdly, knowing instantly that there was something up. These might not have been his boys, but damn it if he knew when they weren’t being truthful to him. He tried for a different approach. “Dean, your Dad said something about you needing to practise your aim. There’re some cans lined up out back, you know where the glock is. Why don’t you go shoot em’ down for a bit? I’ll come give you a hand in a little while, I just need to go run some errands. You gunna help me with that, Sam?”

Dean’s eyes widened a little at the instructions. How had their Dad managed to tell Bobby that so quickly? He hadn’t even seen the words be exchanged between them. He nodded, grateful at the promise of being helped out after he’d practised on his own for a bit.

“Sure, Bobby, I know where it is,” he said, standing as they all did.

Sam nodded his agreement to helping out Bobby too. The work it wasn’t going to be anything to pressing, probably just collecting up pieces of scrap metal that could be boiled down to make bullets.

“Good, come on then,” Bobby said, turning around to gesture them both to the door. Before he had the chance to move he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a face bury into his back. It was getting less and less likely for Dean to ever come over and give him a hug, but Bobby always welcomed the affection, and returned it by giving the boy a quick squeeze, a pat on the back and ruffle of his hair. It was more than his Dad gave him, he was sure of that. In a matter of seconds Sam was there too, hugging his brother and what he could reach of Bobby. He put his other hand on the back of the younger boy’s head and let them stay there for a couple more moments. When he felt like it had been long enough, Bobby coughed to get their attention. “Come on boys, things to be done.”

Both Sam and Dean let go and shot to attention. Dean nodded once, a little ashamed at himself for giving in to the desire he still had to be hugged by someone, and made his way to the kitchen to pick up the gun, and then headed to the back door. Sam went with Bobby as they made their way out the front and to the mess of the land that Bobby owned.

“What d’you want me to help you with?” Sam asked, looking around interestedly. The junkyard looked pretty much the same as it always did; towering piles of rusted junkers everywhere with oil patches collecting under them. 

“Just help me look for anything that looks like it ain’t got any other use,” Bobby said, handing Sam a pair of oversized leather gloves for him to wear. Safety was important in a place like this, and he didn’t want John down his neck about him not taking care of his boys properly.

They worked together in silence for about ten minutes. Sam collecting bits of metal that he thought scrap and then showing them to Bobby to see if he were right or not. Six times out of ten he was. The boy was bright but not so much about mechanics. That was more up Dean’s street. Finally, Bobby couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to find out what was up with both of them.

“So come on, Sam, you expect me to believe that the only reason yer here is because your Dad got a bit mad at yer for throwin’ some food about?” he asked, looking on as the boy hesitated as he reached for another piece of metal.

“What about this piece?” Sam asked, holding up his latest find in an attempt to stall the conversation while he figured out how to answer. Bobby took the piece and nodded, tossing it onto the growing pile of scrap, before turning back to Sam, raising an eyebrow pointedly, letting Sam know his weak effort at deflecting had failed. Sighing, Sam gave up on hoping Bobby would just let it lie, knowing the old man could be more stubborn than him and Dean together, which was saying a lot. 

“I don’t think it was just the food-fight,” he began, scuffing his shoe in the dirt rather than meet Bobby’s eyes, “it was kinda a whole bunch of things together. Me and Dean being pain-in-the-asses, you know? Dad gets mad when we act all stupid and childish.”

“Yer Dad should know better than to think kids ain’t gunna act like kids,” Bobby said gruffly, and then laughed to try and ease the nerves that he saw eating at the kid, “What exactly did you boys do to be more of a pain-in-the-ass than usual? It’s usually somethin’ more than just playing around with yer brother. Yer Dad don’t get mad enough that easy to drop you off at mine. Believe it or not. What exactly happened, Sam?” 

“It was my fault,” Sam hedged, “Dean only put it on because I said I could handle it.” Seeing Bobby’s baffled face, Sam sighed and explained properly, “Me and Dean watched this movie. It was, uh, it was scary,” he wet his lips nervously, heart speeding up as he remembered, “and I, I kinda freaked out, I guess. Had nightmares, couldn’t sleep. May have attacked someone... But clowns are creepy, Bobby! Then Dad got mad at me for being a wuss, and got mad at Dean too, for some reason.”

“So yer tellin’ me yer Dad got mad at you because of some scary movie you boys watched?” Bobby asked, and then chuckled to himself when he saw Sam nod his head in shame. He stopped when he saw the look of devastation on the boy’s face. He sighed, rubbing his forehead with a dirty hand. “Clowns ain’t meant to scare you, boy, but if they do there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Everybody’s got some irrational fear that they can’t explain. I bet even yer Dad was scared of somethin’ like that when he was your age. An’ I bet Dean’s scared of somethin’ too, even though he ain’t gunna tell you about it. No reason for yer Dad to get mad at you both for it, he’s probably jus’ forgotten what it’s like to be a kid. He’s jus’ worried because he knows what can really get yer, an’ he probably don’t like you being scared neither. Not because he wants you and yer brother to be brave all the time, Sam, but because no half-decent parent likes to know that their kid is scared. He probably really jus’ brought you here so you could get it out of yer system for a bit, but don’t tell him I told you that. He wouldn’t want you to know that he still gets scared of stupid things like that sometimes too.” 

“You think?” Sam said a little dubiously, personally doubting Dad had dropped them off just so Sam could get himself together. 

It was more likely, in his opinion, that he’d just got too fed-up to deal with him. Still, the rest of what Bobby was saying seemed to make sense. Sam knew Dad worried about him and Dean all the time, could be stiflingly overprotective in his own way. Dad had good reason to worry. It was hard to think of his Dad being scared of something though, because whenever he met a new monster, the only way he seemed to react was with dogged determination to hunt it down and kill it. Still, Sam knew how Dean reacted when he was scared; his brother always seemed to channel his fear into anger. Maybe their Dad was the same way and just put a brave face on it. 

“I don’t think, boy, I know,” Bobby said, messing up Sam’s hair with a large hand, “Now, you gunna promise me that you an’ yer brother are gunna do yer best to behave when yer Dad gets back? Not that I don’t like havin’ you boys here and seeing you. An’ that if he looks like he’s angry that yer know that he’s jus’ worried about you and don’t know how else to show it?”

“Be easier to know how he was feeling if he’d just be honest,” Sam grumbled, but without real annoyance. He did feel better. The heavy lump of guilt and fear that he’d been carrying around inside him for days seemed to have disappeared, leaving him feeling light-hearted. “I promise. Thanks, Bobby,” he added. 

“That’s alright, son. Now do ya think you can keep doin’ this for a little while longer on yer own so that I can see how yer brother’s doing?” Bobby asked, patting Sam on the back, “An’ I think I might have some ice-cream in the fridge since the last time you boys were here an’ Dean had that belly ache. If yer yer do a good job I’m sure we can finish that off later.”

“Alright!” Sam said enthusiastically, running off to pick up a bit of metal which had caught his eye while they’d been talking.

Bobby watched as the boy ran off, sighing and shaking his head. One down, Singer, one more to go. He found Dean exactly where he’d told him to be; shooting cans in the backward. The older boy didn’t stop when he heard Bobby come up behind him. In an attempt to show off, he shot at one of the cans furthest away, but missed by about an inch.

“Damn it!” Dean cried, kicking at a stone by his foot. Bobby shook his head as he stood next to him, taking a look at the boy’s handy work. By the looks of it, that had been the first time he’d missed.

“Yer doing good, kid, are you sure this was somethin’ that yer needed to practise on?” he asked as Dean lined up for his next shot. “Give it a rest now, Dean, you done good enough.”

After a slight pause Dean lowered the weapon. He didn’t look happy about it. The knowledge that he still had to improve his aim, according to his Dad, buzzed around his brain and told him that it couldn’t possibly be time to stop because he’d just missed.

“Bobby, Dad wanted me to practise and he’ll be pissed if he doesn’t think that I did--” he started but Bobby interrupted him.

“I’ll tell yer Dad that you practised an’ that you did a good job of it too, alright?” he snapped, getting sick of hearing ‘Dad this’ and ‘Dad that’. There wasn’t any point in getting annoyed, Bobby knew, so he added softly, “Sam told me about that movie you boys watched an’ that he’s been gettin’ scared. I told him that it’s okay to be scared of somethin’s just as long as yer keep yer head about it, an’ that yer Dad only brought yer here so that you two could cool off it a bit.”

“That’s not why he brought us here at all,” Dean protested, aiming the gun again and taking a shot. This time he hit the can full on. “He brought us here because he was sick of Sam being a baby and because I wasn’t doing a good enough job at making him feel better while Dad was gone. Dad knew that Sammy would feel safe here around you, and that I needed to get better at looking after him.”

Bobby let Dean sulk about it for a little bit before saying anything else. At last he finally said something. “You really think that, Dean? Yer really think that you don’t do a good enough job in looking after yer little brother?”

The silence that followed his words answered his questions perfectly.

“Yer idjit,” he concluded, taking the gun out of Dean’s hands as he had just been holding it idly, “You do a great job at lookin’ after yer little brother. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“But it’s not enough! I still let him watch that stupid movie, and now he’s terrified of something and it’s all my fault!” Dean said, trying to hold his voice steady.

“Sam was gunna see something at some point anyway that was gunna make him scared, Dean, everybody does,” Bobby said in an attempt to console him.

“But that’s not just it, Bobby... What if...? What if I don’t do a good enough job of looking after Sammy and then something gets him?! It happened in the movie! The monster used the guy’s little brother against him! What if some monster gets hold of Sammy and then uses him against me or Dad? How could I save him from that?” Dean was getting hysterical, though he still stood up firm. He was turned away from Bobby so that the man couldn’t see the tears of worry on his cheeks.  
“You ever thought to consider that it ain’t always gunna be yer job to look out for yer brother?” Bobby said, and then put up his hands, “No, I said that wrong. What I mean is, Sam is his own person and he’s gunna be able to look after himself. He ain’t gunna blame you if somethin’ bad ever happened to him, which it probably won’t at the rate yer Dad’s teaching you both to be good hunters.”

Dean turned around to look at him, and by god did he look unsure of all that. Bobby put out an arm and patted the boy on the back, keeping his hand on his shoulder to show a little support.

“Yer brother knows that yer love him, Dean,” he said quietly, so that only the two of them could hear, “And he loves you too. He don’t expect you to always look after him like you do, but he is grateful that you do. Yer both there for each other, neither one of you should take on more responsibility that needed when concerning each other.”

Dean listened, standing where he was quietly. Finally he nodded his agreement, face cringing. There was nothing else he could say. He wavered a little from side to side before giving in and wrapping his arms around Bobby’s waist and hugged him.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters resolve their issues. Sort of.

After the talk, the rest of their stay at Bobby’s went smoothly. Neither of the boys spoke to each other about what Bobby had said to each of them, but that didn’t mean that his words weren’t thought over and taken to heart. It was still hard for Dean when Sammy woke up the first night there, sweating and crying out in fear, and there was a small part of him that still felt guilty, still felt the helpless urge to protect Sam from the monsters in his own head, but soon the terrors of the night were forgotten in the brightness of the day.

Life with Bobby was still unconventional and probably wouldn’t have met Social Service standards for suitable childcare, but he provided a more stable environment than they were used to. Dean might complain about the chores and the lessons Bobby made them do, but that was just to save face. It was good to have normal responsibilities, like doing the dishes or cleaning the kitchen, things where no one died if he messed up. As for Sam, he thrived, borrowing Bobby’s books and reading through them, discovering new terrors to distract him from the clown. 

By the time John came to pick them up, the memories of shame and fear had faded. Both Sam and Dean were young enough that things that happened last week felt like the distant past, and while Sam still left the room whenever Ronald McDonald came on TV, he no longer freaked out at night. John had benefited from having time away too, enough to reflect a little and drink a lot, so that when he came to Bobby’s he didn’t want to yell at his boys anymore. 

Not many words were exchanged between Bobby and John when the boy’s were picked up. There was the usual gruff expression of gratitude from John, followed by Bobby’s quick dismissal and reassurance that he was more than happy to take the boys anytime. Finally, Bobby said goodbye to the boys, watching as they climbed into the car, before heading back to his house as they drove off. 

Dean sat up front with his Dad while Sam lounged on the back seat. John was glad to have them both back with him, although he wasn’t about to say it. They were way on their way to the next town when John finally felt that he could talk to his boys again. He turned down the music, much to the annoyance of his eldest son, but still kept enough concentration on the road to keep it from getting too serious.

“Things better now, Sam?” he asked bluntly. 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replied cautiously, watching his Dad’s face in the rearview mirror, checking for any remnants of anger, but he was relieved to find his Dad looked almost amused. It was hard to tell through the beard, but Sam thought he might even be smiling a little. “I’m not so scared anymore. Besides,” he added daringly, “Bobby said it was okay to be scared. He said even you get scared sometimes.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he caught Sam’s reflection in the mirror, sending him a warning look to shut the hell up and not rock the boat. However, to everyone’s surprise, John actually laughed, a sudden bark of amusement. “He’s right. Things I’ve seen, you’d have to be a fool not to be scared sometimes. Fear can be a tool, it can help keep you alive, keep you on your toes and stop you getting complacent. Get complacent in this job and you end up dead fast. But it can kill you too, if you get too scared, let your fear overpower you and make you feel helpless. Because you’re not helpless, Sam. Remember that.”

Sam nodded, respectfully, “I will, Dad.”

Dean twitched, forcing himself to repress his emotions as the conversation between his father and his brother ended. He turned his body away, twisting so that he could look out the window and avoid any sort of eye contact with his Dad or little brother. It was good that they were working it out together, it really was, and it fine by Dean that their Dad wasn’t going to try and check in with him. John had no way of knowing that he’d been scared by the movie too; scared of the things that could get Sam if he didn’t do a good enough job in keeping them away. There was no reason why he’d think to comfort Dean.

“Good,” John said solemnly, before snorting, mouth twisting into what was definitely a grin, “Still, Sammy, killer clowns?” he chuckled, “Like you’re ever going to run into those.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in, “Super stupid, right Dad?”

Done with the conversation, John switched his full concentration back to the road, mind already back on the next town and the next monster. Absently, he noted Dean had spoken and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, which Dean missed. “Turn the radio back up, son,” he said.

Dean bit his lip, watching the way John’s face had gone distant as soon as he stopped speaking to Sam, then turned up the radio. “Sure, Dad.”


End file.
